


A Mystery

by kay_obsessive



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fugue Feast (Dishonored), Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 13:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15292644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_obsessive/pseuds/kay_obsessive
Summary: She keeps her mask on the entire time.That’s not unheard of during Fugue, but it’s a rare enough thing for him to take notice.





	A Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "meeting your one-night stand the next day and they’re your new boss/coworker/bff’s dad/other person you would never have slept with if you’d known who they’d turn out to be".
> 
> Fugue Feast is my favorite Dishonored fic genre.

She keeps her mask on the entire time, letting him pull away every other bit of adornment on her body until his fingers brush the long ties carefully laced and knotted at the back of her head, where she stops his hands and gently whispers, _no_.

That’s not unheard of during Fugue, but it’s a rare enough thing for him to take notice. The masks and paints are for those still on the streets, those committing crimes or betrayals or still seeking out their forbidden companion for the night. Once the doors have closed on any chosen indiscretion, there’s not much point to it.

Perhaps she fears he might break the lawlessness of this night and tell of her actions to a jealous husband or disapproving family. She’s quite clearly a noble, someone with a reputation worth ruining. Her clothing felt too fine beneath his hands for anything else, the mask still hiding her features too well-crafted, dark feathers and gilded metal fit perfectly to the lines and curves of her face.

Or perhaps she’s hired his blade before, knows he would recognize her and fears what might happen when he does. It would explain the way her voice niggles at his mind, familiar in some distant way he cannot quite place.

Her hands grip suddenly at his shoulders, pulling him down, and the metal of her mask is cool against his skin as she kisses him.

He lets his questions drift away as he closes his eyes. He can allow a small mystery during the Fugue Feast.

* * *

Come morning, she is gone, and that much at least is quite usual. 

Daud takes his time returning home, knowing it will be many hours before any of his Whalers come stumbling back, even longer until any of them are really functioning. They never have any work the first few days of a new year, anyway. It will take time for the grudges formed during the Fugue to simmer over into contracts and coin.

In Holger Square, the High Overseer is delivering his sermon on atonement and renewal that brings in every new year, nobles and city officials at the front of the solemnly listening crowd, and Daud pauses on a nearby roof to watch, scanning for injuries and furious faces that might lead to coin in the following days.

He is about to turn away and continue on when the Empress steps up to make her own yearly speech. Her voice, tinny and strange as it is through the speaker hanging below, slots neatly into place in his memories.

With slightly clumsy fingers, he digs a cigarette out of his pocket, lights it, and takes a long drag. He shakes his head as he lets out a humorless laugh, smoke drifting up and away, and sits down to listen to rest of the speech, just to be sure.

That’s a mystery solved, then. No need to wonder why Jessamine Kaldwin herself would wish to keep her mask on through the Fugue.


End file.
